


Stay, Please.

by puptart



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, No one dies though, POV Second Person, Season 4 Spoilers, discussion of potential impending death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puptart/pseuds/puptart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for up to Season 4 Mission 3</p>
<p>Sara's plan doesn't go the way she wants it, and Five tries to be there to keep her anchored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay, Please.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally done as a fill for tumblr user runnerzero as part of an otp ask meme that got wildly out of hand. It's been almost two weeks now, but hopefully it was worth the wait!

You love watching Sara run, almost as much as you love to watch her in general. There’s such a sureness to her every movement that intoxicates you, and draws your eyes to her. Everything she does is tightly controlled, perfectly executed. Every footfall is perfectly spaced, perfectly even, and perfectly timed. Even the swing of her ponytail as she runs is _perfect._

Then again, you may have something of a bias. She would certainly say so, if you ever made her privy to these thoughts you have. You won’t though, because then she’d be insufferable and probably angry with you. She tries so hard to seem as though she’s average in every way, when she’s nothing less than extraordinary. It still makes you laugh to think about when you first met and she insisted she was just an ordinary office worker. It wasn’t as funny back then, as you were pretty certain she was going to shank you in your sleep, but it had been just as absurd.

Now though, Sara doesn’t scare you like that. It’s taken awhile, what with her thinking you’re a double agent, her being some sort of triple agent, turning you over to Van Ark to be medically tortured, _saving you_ from being medically tortured and it all being topped off by you attacking Abel Township while under mind control. With all of that going on, your relationship has been a little rocky, to say the least. With Van Ark and Moonchild dead though, things are looking up.

Mostly.

Veronica is still working on a cure, but you worry it may not be in time. Paula was turned half-zom months before Sara, so her condition is more pronounced. It was hardly a month ago that she’d collapsed in the field when that partially sentient zombie had kidnapped Veronica. That’s what had directly led to her being taken off the running roster, to everyone’s relief and disappointment.

Paula doesn’t seem to have much hope of being saved, no matter how blindly optimistic Sam is, but she is dealing with it in a healthy manner, at least. Paula’s at peace with her impending death, even if she’d very much rather live.

Sara, on the other hand, is taking it hard. She’s still on active duty as a runner, but she sees what’s happening to Paula, and sees what will be happening to her in a matter of months. You see the same thing, admittedly. The only difference is, you worry that Sara has plans to make sure her condition doesn’t get the chance to progress so far. Death has never scared Sara, but the slow loss of the things she loves most does.

The reason you’re watching her run on the track right now, for instance, is because Lobatse had met you at the gates when you’d returned from your afternoon run. You’d been on high alert immediately, because you knew Sara was supposed to be taking her turn on the plasmapheresis machine while you were out. You hate that she always plans to get her treatments while you’re out, but she hates to be hovered over, and you can hardly help yourself when she’s hooked up to that monstrous machine.

Lobatse had first assured you nothing went wrong during Sara’s treatment, which had been your first thought, and then she had told you that Sara was refusing the period of rest that is supposed to follow having her blood cleansed. Sara’s usually a pretty easy patient, unless she doesn’t want to be, so you’re mildly surprised by the use of the word ‘refuse’. You’d quickly promised to speak with Sara, and left for the track immediately. Sam had half-heartedly chastised you over your headset for not going to get your bite check done, but he understood your priority just then, and had barely complained when you'd turned your mic off.

Sara’s sweating hard as she runs past you for the third time. You haven’t quite figured out how to approach this conversation yet, so you’re stalling by allowing yourself to admire her legs as she goes. The curve of her spine is pretty wonderful too, and her arms…

You give yourself a little mental shake. Too much stalling. You raise your arms over your head and give yourself a stretch, followed by twisting your upper body from side to side, then shaking out your legs. You haven’t quite cooled down yet, so you should be fine to catch up to her.

Sara’s just as fast now as she’s always been, but you’ve gotten faster. If it’s a side effect of Van Ark’s serum or just a side effect of running as a career, you don’t know, and you don’t think about it too much if you can help it. It doesn’t take you long before you’re at Sara’s side, on her right, keeping steady pace. It’s kind of novel, considering how often she used to be out in front of you.

“I was wondering when you’d join me.” Sara says, slightly out of breath. She’s not looking at you, not even a glance, which tells you she knows what you’re here to say.

“I was actually thinking it might be time for _you_ to join _me_.” You reply. Sara laughs.

“Are you flirting with me, Five?” She asks, faux scandalized. “What _will_ the others say? And poor Sam, you know he’s always carried a torch for you-”

“Shut _up_.” You shove at her, cheeks burning. Sometimes you wish Sara could just be jealous, like any tv show love interest would be. Instead, she finds it funny, too funny considering she’s still laughing, hard enough that she’s slowed down to a stop in the middle of the track.

“Oh Five, hon, I’m just teasing-” You cut her off by ducking down, putting your shoulder to her hips, your arms around her legs, and then lifting. She gives a surprised huff of laughter as she goes over your shoulder, hanging upside down. “Oh it’s like this?”

“You need rest. Doctor’s orders. I’m just doing my job.” You say, struggling a bit under the weight as you turn yourself and head for the showers. Much as you’d like to head straight for the barracks, you’re both sweaty and you in particular are covered in various other substances that you’d like to have off before you crawl into bed.

“Come on, Five, you know me. I can’t stand being told to sit around when I could be doing something useful.” Sara says, worming around a bit to get comfortable, which nearly causes you to drop her.

“Resting is useful. Resting helps you be less dead.” You say dryly.

“Just delaying the inevitable, isn’t it?” Sara’s voice has got an edge to it, and you sigh.

“Sara.”

“No, don’t start.” She says, then goes limp against you. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.”

You relent, and let silence fall between you. You have talked to Sara about her condition before, and what it means for her future. For your future together. She doesn’t want to die slow. She doesn’t want to just _wait_ to die. Paula has the baby to stick around for, or that’s how Sara sees it. For Sara, who sees the end of her being allowed on active duty approaching, all she wants is to go out big. Heroic.

She wants her death to mean something. You relate to the feeling, but it terrifies you beyond speaking to hear Sara echo that thought. Especially when you know she’s been taking stupid risks and pushing herself well past her limits in the field, seeking a good end. A good death.

All you want is for Sara’s life to mean something too. To her, at least. It means the world to you, that Sara is still around. You’d nearly lost her two years ago to Van Ark, and it was only luck and a motorcycle that saved her. You can’t help but cherish her, when you came so close to not being able to.

You pass Jody on your way to the showers and ask her to fetch you and Sara a change of clothes since you don’t want to have to go out of your way with Sara slung over your shoulder. She grins at the two of you, then dashes off while you keep trodding along. You and Sara rarely shower alone anymore, so you’re able to navigate the shower seamlessly on autopilot once you’re there, washing each other’s backs and hair without a word.

You’re helping her towel off, something you’d forgotten but which Jody had not, when Sara suddenly grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss. You make a muffled noise of surprise, but don’t hesitate to lean into it. You’re both still damp and warm from the shower. The air around you is cooling fast though, so you don’t want to waste too much time kissing before it gets chilly.

“Feeling better?” You ask as you pull back. Sara doesn’t let you get too far, still holding your cheeks between her palms. There’s an easy smile on her face, and she pulls you in again until your foreheads are pressed together.

“Don’t you worry about me, Five.” She says softly. “I’ll be fine. And you will too.”

You swallow hard, and kiss her again. She shouldn’t be thinking about how scared you are. She shouldn’t even know how scared you are, but you are terrified to lose her in the very core of your being. No Five without Eight, ever, if you can help it. You’ll run and run and run as much as they need to find that damn cure, and you’ll pretend the option of failing doesn’t exist.

Owen knocks on the door then, asking if whoever is in there might hurry it up, so you pull back and dress quickly. His face when you and Sara are the ones to open the door is priceless, like he’s just dry swallowed a handful of tacks. The two of you manage to keep entirely straight faces as you brush past him, but the second you’re out of the showers and headed for the barracks you both break into slightly hysterical giggles.

“Oh, poor thing. He can’t catch a break.” Sara laughs, brushing a knuckle under her eye.

“That face, Sara. He probably thinks you’re going to murder him in his sleep.” You say, and she nudges you in the ribs. “He’ll be sleeping with one eye open, I bet.”

“As if I’d go anywhere near him while that filthy creature sleeps on his face.” Sara says, wrinkling her nose. Owen’s new tomcat doesn’t much care for Sara, nor she for it, which you don’t really understand. It could just be one of many of Sara’s quirks, but you find yourself avoiding the cat too, just in case her intuition proves to be right. She may have been wrong about you, after all, but she’s been spot on for about a hundred other things.

You head for your room, side by side, one of Sara’s arms flung across your shoulders while you’ve got a hand resting on her waist. The sky is overcast, but it’s not too cold yet. Even so, you drink in Sara’s warmth against you. She’s always warmest after a treatment, when the virus has been mostly flushed from her system.

You turn the knob to your door and push it open, revealing the room that is technically yours, but that Sara shares with you more often than not. She’s still got a bunk in a room with Louise, just in case she wants to sleep alone or doesn’t want to wake you when she stays up late with Janine. There are scant traces of her in that room though. This room has her everywhere. Her boots lined up beside yours under the window. The pile of dirty clothes shoved into the corner is compiled of articles that belong to both of you, and half the time you can’t remember what actually belongs to who, apart from a few choice items. Your collection of novelty socks comes to mind. On the dresser you’ve both got spiral notebooks and a pile of pens, along with four rarely used candles and a box of matches. The desk has Sara’s gun laid on a dirty cloth from when she’d been cleaning it the night before.

“Oops.” She says, drawing away from you to grab it and tuck it in the holster she’d made for it under the bed. Your axe is leaning against the foot of the bed, where you usually put it. You’ve considered getting some sort of wall mount for it, but it’s fine as is, no matter what Janine and Sara have to say about it.

You kick your trainers off and toss yours and Sara’s dirty clothes on top of the pile in the corner, then jump knees first onto the bed. Sara stretches, but hesitates to crawl in with you.

“Should we really be going to bed already? They’ll be passing out evening rations soon.” She says, looking out the window that still has some sunlight trickling in. You crawl under the blankets and pull them back on her side of the bed.

“We’re not going to bed, it’s just a nap. D&D’s tonight, remember? We’ll just lay down for a bit, go get food, and head to the rec center.” You remind her. Or well, you aren’t actually reminding her. She knows the Tuesday routine by now, and she keeps better track of the days than you do. It’s written all over her face that she just wants to be back out there running. The gates to the township are clearly visible from the window, a fact you’ve always liked until Sara started getting taken off runs. More often than not when you wake up you can find her already up and dressed, staring out wistfully with her arms crossed, fists clenched tight.

You’ve begged Janine to let her out more, because as worried as you are that she’s going to do something stupid and reckless enough to make sure she doesn’t get the chance to die slowly, you can’t stand to see her aching so. Janine hadn’t taken any pleasure in turning you down. You both worry for her health, mentally and physically, and you’re half relieved that Janine has the spine you lack when it comes to telling Sara ‘no’.

“Sara? Come to bed now. I’m getting cold.” You say, patting at the space beside you. She heaves a heavy sigh and pulls her gaze away from the window as she steps over and slides in next to you. Her weight dips the bed, rolling you towards her a bit and you go with it, pressing up as close as you can get, even sliding a hand under her shirt to feel the warmth of her stomach. Sara worms an arm around you and presses her hand to your back, holding you close. You hope she gets as much from your physical presence as you do hers, but it’s hard to tell with her looking off into the middle distance.

“Five?” She eventually asks. You’ve starting drifting off by this point, lulled by your ear to her beating heart. Her voice jolts you awake though, and you make an inquiring noise, trying to sound like you’ve been alert. “What do you think; is Veronica going to manage to make a cure in time to save me and Paula?”

“Why are you asking me?” You ask, shifting so you can look up at her. You feel her shoulder roll under your cheek in a shrug.

“You’re not a blind optimist like Sam, but neither are you quite so… realistic as I am.”

“Pessimistic.”

“Semantics. Answer the question.” She pinches at your sides. You grumble, and think about it for a long moment. Sara doesn’t rush you. She wants a real answer, and you want to try and give it to her.

Veronica McShell is easily the smartest person in the world right now, but even she has to rely on luck sometimes. Luck is something you have in abundance, though you aren’t sure if you’ve got the good kind or the bad kind. It seems to swap off. If you can get just a little luckier though, there might be a chance. They reckon Paula’s got another two months. Sara, then, might have five, if she sticks to the plan. You don’t know if Veronica will make it in time for Paula, a thought that makes you sick to your stomach, but you believe that she may yet save Sara. You have to.

“I do.” You say, so it’s only half a lie. Sara wouldn’t take your thoughts on Paula’s chances any better than you are. You feel the lingering tension in Sara’s body relax, and you snuggle closer.

“I thought you’d say that.” She says, almost like she’s disappointed, if not for the fact that she’s now as languid as a fat cat lying in sunshine. You lean up to press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw.

“Have a little faith.” You say.

“I suppose I’ll have to, if you’re the one saying it.” She soothes her hand up and down your back, then gives you a very brief squeeze. Quietly, she promises, “I’m not going anywhere, Five. Not unless death comes dragging me out, kicking and screaming.”

You feel your own body relax at her words, like a boulder has been lifted off your shoulders. She's going to try. Thank God. Your eyes begin to prickle in relief, and you turn your face into her shoulder, where her shirt might soak up any tears that you can’t hold in. The two of you hold each other, not sleeping, but basking in each other's company until Sam comes to rouse you for game night.


End file.
